


Theologic

by Miso



Series: A War He Can't Forget [10]
Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Religion, recovering catholic floyd is my favorite trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: A package from Floyd's parents dredges up some memories.





	Theologic

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY OKAY. floyd is not okay in the slightest and has a very complicated relationship with the church of his childhood. i would love to do more exploring into floyd's shaky relationship with faith and religion... but right now let's just have earl baby him some more. ;D

"Anything interesting in the mail?"

"A package for you." Earl dropped the box onto the coffee table. "Just some ads, otherwise. There's a Denver return address if that tells you anything." Floyd almost choked on his coffee when Earl said the package was from Denver. "... What?"

"Nothing," Floyd said behind coughs. "It's just... my folks still live in Denver. I don't like getting shit from there because it's always from them."

"You want me to just put it in the garbage?"

"Not really."

"But you don't want to open it."

"Also no."

Earl sat beside Floyd on the couch, and the two of them just stared at the box for a second. "... Should I open it?"

"Ugh, god, if you want," Floyd said quietly, eyes closed. "I don't really want to know what they're sending me. Probably a dead cat they found in the street or something if they've found out about us."

"It's just got your name on it. Would any of your siblings have told them?"

"Just Boris, and fuck knows no one would tell him anything."

Earl shrugged a little. "Then maybe it's something important. Or at least, um, not a dead animal." He pulled the box into his lap. "Hand me your pocket knife."

Cutting open the packing tape and opening the flaps, Earl peered into the package curiously. "... It's just a book."

"It's not a Bible, is it?"

"Doesn't look like one." Earl fished the book out of the box and handed it to Floyd. "It looks like a photo album or something."

"... Oh, Jesus Christ."

"Don't tell me it actually is a Bible." Earl paused. "Pun not intended."

"No. It's my mom's album of me growing up." Floyd sighed and rubbed his temples. "She had one for each of us. I didn't think she'd kept any of them except for Boris's." He flipped through the pages quickly, then shut the front cover again. "Christ. If you wanna see some embarrassing pictures of me as a kid, then you just hit a goldmine."

"You know I do." Earl smiled and leaned into Floyd's side. "I at least wanna find out why they sent it to you. Maybe they hid a bunch of weed in it or something."

"I would say they'd kill you for saying that, but hollowing out my childhood for drugs isn't that out of character for them." Floyd sighed a little and opened the book. "Go nuts."

"You're not gonna walk me through it?"

"Earl..."

"Hey, I showed you my embarrassing baby pictures, you have to show me yours!"

Touche. Earl's embarrassing childhood pictures had been paraded in front of him to get it out of the way before he met his parents. It was only fair.

The first few pages were nothing special. "Awww, you were a chubby baby! Why are you so skinny now?"

"I hit a growth spurt and have the metabolism of an Olympic sprinter." Floyd smiled a little.

"And you were bald as shit, too, oh man. Look at you." Floyd rolled his eyes at Earl gushing, flipping through the next few pages of the book and dealing with repeats of "awwwwwwwwww!" and "oh my GOD you were so fat!"

He paused at the sight of himself as a young boy, probably around 7 or 8, dressed in a suit and quite clearly not pleased. He knelt in front of a priest, surrounded by probably 20 other kids, obviously bored out of his skull. Ah, first communion. Floyd couldn't help but laugh at the sour look on his 7-year-old self's face. Even then, he was sick of the church.

"Um. What's this?" Earl asked, poking at the picture. "Which one are you?"

"That's me." Floyd pointed himself out, sulking and probably seconds away from being admonished by his mother to sit up straight and wait his turn patiently. "That was my first communion."

"Don't you guys do that, like, every week?"

"Doing it for the first time is a big deal. Like..." Floyd paused and thought a second. "It's just a big to-do about responsibility and accountability and understanding being Catholic and shit."

"Oh." Earl lay his head on Floyd's shoulder. "You don't look very happy."

"I probably wasn't. It takes like 3 hours and there's a million other kids taking it with you and you just have to sit and wait kneeling like that. No wonder most practicing Catholics I know have fucked up knees."

"Is it that bad?"

"Ohhh, yeah. The only good part is they give you cake and a shit ton of food after Mass. And presents but they're Bibles and rosaries and shit." Floyd smirked a little. "I still have the rosary my grandparents gave me, though."

"No shit?"

"Can probably still pray the Rosary by heart, too." Floyd flipped the page, chuckling at a picture of himself at probably 12 or 13. Acne-spotted, overly-coiffed 50s hair, wonky-toothed and clearly mid-growth spurt considering that his arms and legs were far too long for his torso. This was clearly someone who had just missed the jackpot in the genetic lottery. Earl giggled, unsuccessfully trying to stifle it by biting his lower lip.

"Wow. I thought I was awkward."

"You should see pictures of me playing basketball when I looked like that. I was like a baby giraffe." Floyd paused and scanned a few more pages of fuck-all, before pausing at a team picture of a basketball team. "Like that."

Floyd didn't have to point himself out this time. He stuck out like a sore thumb, being a good head taller than most of the others on the team. "Jesus, were they all really short, or...? When was this, high school?"

"Kinda. My high school was affiliated with the CYO but I started playing when I was... I dunno, 10 or 11? I think I was 15 here, so... yeah, sophomore year, I guess. I hit puberty early and got crazy tall so I was kind of the star until everyone else caught up." Floyd leaned back on the couch, Earl curled up close to him. "You know, my dad would fill you with buckshot if he saw us like this."

"He isn't here." Earl smiled a little and nuzzled Floyd's neck. "What is it with Catholics and basketball?"

"Eh. All four of us boys played some kind of sport. Boris got to do football since he's built like a goddamned fridge." Floyd shrugged a little. "Then Tom played baseball, Jake did cross country, and me... well, you try being six-foot-five and built like a stick and see who doesn't tell you you should play basketball."

"Oh... my folks never made me participate in a sport."

"Golly. I wonder why." Floyd's sarcasm was nearly palpable and it earned him a smack on the chest from Earl. "I'm just fuckin' with you, doll."

"Show me another stupid picture of you as a kid, I want more blackmail material."

Floyd shook his head with a fond smile and turned the page, filing through a few more pages of unimpressive material before stopping again. This picture wasn't quite as sweet to reminisce upon as the others had been. "... You might want to see this one, doll."

Earl tilted his head. Floyd, probably 20ish, in his Army dress uniform, beside a similar-looking man quite a bit older than himself in slightly different dress greens. "... Who's that?"

"My uncle Harold Weir. My dad's brother."

"Why do they have different last names...?"

"You know, I don't know. It wasn't talked about." Floyd ruminated the subject for a second. "I dunno. I'd ask but I don't think I want to get any deeper into my family's drama than I have to."

"Understandable. So... was he in the army too?"

"Mhm. He was in Korea. When I enlisted my mother insisted we talk for a while so I 'knew what to expect'. Then right before I was deployed she took this picture because she thought it was poignant or some shit." Floyd sighed a little. "You know, Uncle Harold and I have always gotten along. I think you'd like him."

"Would I? The way you talk about your family..."

"I don't know. He's... he's not as crazy as the rest of them are. I mean... I dunno, maybe he changed his last name so people wouldn't associate him with my dad? I don't know. He's been a Weir as long as I've been alive, though."

"You look a lot like him."

"Yeah, the men from my dad's line tend to look a lot alike." Floyd shut the book. The pair were quiet for a bit.

"You really still have a rosary from when you were a kid?"

"Once you start being Catholic, Earl, it's virtually impossible to stop. Even if you never pray, never go to church, never do the Rosary, you're basically still Catholic until you do something so violently blasphemous that they think God himself can't forgive you for it."

"... Can I see it?"

"Um. Sure, I guess. Hang on a second." Floyd disappeared up the stairs momentarily, then returned with a crucifix on a long string of beads. "Here. Have you never seen a rosary before?"

"No, actually, I don't know anyone who's Catholic besides you." Earl curled into Floyd's side again as he sat back down. "So, it's just... a bunch of beads with Jesus hangin' out crucified on the end?"

"Well... no, it's supposed to be theologically-"

"It's beads, Floyd."

"... Yeah, it's beads with a dead Jesus," Floyd admitted. If you didn't try to dress it up as anything else, that was all it was. His entire life he'd been fed that it was something so important, something that should be inseparable from him. "But you pray with them." He instinctively ran his fingers over the crucifix and had to fight back the immediate urge to make the sign of the cross over himself. Jeez. Take the boy out of the church, but not the church out of the boy, he guessed.

"... You look kind of worried about something."

"I am. I remember every bit of the Rosary."

"You said you probably would." Earl paused a moment and watched Floyd's fingers dance over the crucifix like second nature. "... Does that bother you?"

"A little bit. I mean... if I was..." Floyd winced at the next words that came out of his mouth, but he didn't know how else to word it, "if I was good, I would wear this. It would be on me. Constantly. And I would pray this every day, every week."

"If you were good?"

Floyd bit his lip, white knuckling the rosary. "... I don't want to go to Hell," he breathed, his voice trembling. God-fucking-dammit, crying again?! How much had he been crying these past few weeks? Too much. "I don't want to go to Hell!" he repeated, teary-eyed.

"Floyd..." Earl placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Breathe." Floyd tried to focus on the rhythm of his breathing. Earl continued. "... Do you really think you're going to Hell for not saying a prayer every single day?" A nod. "I don't think you are."

"Th-there's a mil-million other reasons..."

"You know something, Floyd?" Earl pulled his lover close and covered his hands, pointedly taking the protruding rosary beads into his own palms. "When I was little, my mom took me to temple. I asked the rabbi a ton of questions. He said there's no such thing as Hell." Floyd sobbed. "I don't remember his reasoning, exactly," Earl continued. "But me personally? I think it's because no merciful, loving God would send people to Hell for the things everyone says we're going to Hell for." Floyd shuddered and looked up at Earl quizzically.

"Think about it. What all have you been told you're going to Hell for? Not praying. Listening to the wrong music. Cutting your hair. Not cutting your hair. Dressing wrong. Doing the wrong job. Not going to church enough. Going to church too much. Loving the way you do. Things you can't help anymore than you can help that you bleed red." What was this? Earl wasn't supposed to be smart like this. "... I think as long as you're a decent person, you'll be fine. I don't know what happens after people die, but... if there's a Heaven, I think you're a lock to get in."

"... How...?"

"You're not a bad person, Floyd. You have a short temper, you have problems you need to work through, you've been through a LOT of shit. But you're not a bad person." Earl leaned in and kissed Floyd's forehead gently. "I don't think you are, anyway," he whispered.

Floyd whimpered a little and swallowed a sob. Earl backed away a little bit. "I'm gonna get you some water and your medicine, okay?" he mumbled. "Hang tight." With that, he was gone, however briefly, and Floyd was left with his thoughts and his stupid rosary. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.

When Earl returned with a glass of water and a Klonopin tablet, he paused for a second upon discovering Floyd muttering under his breath. That wasn't normal for a sober Floyd Robertson. "Floyd?" he asked quietly. "Floyd, baby, are you okay...?" He stepped closer, trying to listen to whatever Floyd was saying. If he'd snapped in the 3 minutes it took Earl to get a glass of water and his medicine, he figured he'd better be calling someone.

Floyd nervously rubbed one of the beads of the rosary between his fingers as he mumbled. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..." Whether he was doing it out of compulsion, fear, or a need for comfort, Earl wasn't sure. If the correct answer was behind door number three, he wasn't sure how to react to it. He left the tablet and glass of water on the coffee table and disappeared up the stairs. Earl retrieved his old stuffed cat that Floyd had gotten attached to and returned to him, finding him in the middle of another prayer. "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen..."

"Floyd." Earl nudged his boyfriend by the shoulder. "Floyd, baby, look up." Floyd jumped about 3 feet in the air at the second nudge, dropping the rosary at his feet and staring at Earl, terrified. "... Are you okay?" Floyd paused, then shook his head. No. No, he wasn't. "Alright. Alright, it's gonna be fine, look," Earl whispered, as reassuringly as he could. He placed Purrl Camembert, the battered stuffed animal, into Floyd's lap and settled beside him to offer him his Klonopin and a drink of water.

The medicine metabolized fairly quickly, which was one thing Earl had to give the doctors props for. Even if he wasn't hip on the idea of Floyd depending on a potentially addictive medicine to deal with his panic attacks, that shit worked and it worked fast. Floyd sat on the couch staring into space for a few minutes, white-knuckling Purrl Camembert. "You alright?" Earl asked softly. Floyd was quiet for a moment longer before he nodded. "... What happened?"

A wordless shrug. "Just... just happened," Floyd whispered, his voice hoarse. "I didn't..."

"... You're terrified of that thing." Earl felt the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Floyd, baby... if you don't like having it and have a panic attack over it why do you keep it?"

"... Same reason I kept my 'Nam stuff."

Earl just nodded. Obligation, fear, anxiety. Three of Floyd's main motivators. "Maybe it should go in with your Vietnam stuff. Out of sight, out of mind."

"No..."

"Why not?"

Floyd's wince was more than enough for Earl to decipher why. Another thing dear old Dad would probably beat the shit out of his kids for screwing up. "Your dad isn't here. I am. I don't like seeing you like this." He wrapped his arms around Floyd and held him tight. "If you're going to have a panic attack just holding it..."

Floyd shuddered a little, leaning into Earl's touch. He was right. He hated to admit it, but Earl was right. "... Take it. Put it away." He curled into himself as Earl picked up the rosary. "Th-there's a Bible, too. Second drawer in my nightstand."

"You want me to put that up, too?"

"Please." Floyd gripped the stuffed cat tightly. "Just... get it away."

Earl reassuringly rubbed Floyd's shoulder. "Alright. I'll be back, okay?"

"... I don't want you to go."

"Can you stand? Come with me." Earl stood up and offered Floyd his hand. "Seeing them put up might help..."

Floyd nodded a little and stood, clinging to Earl's arm for support. The sight of his trunk of Vietnam mementos almost made him faint, but seeing the Bible and rosary disappear into it and be shut in the spare closet did help. "... I'm sorry."

"Floyd, you don't have to apologize every time you have a panic attack." Earl caressed Floyd's cheek gently. "It's fine, okay? I love you. I just wish you'd told me you didn't like having that stuff so I wouldn't have asked about it." His hand moved from Floyd's face to his shoulder, then down his arm. He gripped his boyfriend's hand in his own tightly. "C'mon. It's a nice day. Wanna go for a walk, clear your mind a little?"

A walk. Yeah. That was what he needed. Floyd nodded a little. "... You don't mind being seen-"

"Floyd, I love you. If I could scream it from the rooftops and not get in trouble, I would." Earl smiled and squeezed Floyd's hand. "C'mon. I think we both need some fresh air."

The warm caress of the late morning sun on his skin felt like a blanket out of the dryer. He squinted against the bright light, brushing hair behind his ear, as Earl smiled up at him almost innocently, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. That was one thing about Melonville; at least their neighborhood. No one would say a word. Any other small town, he'd be looking over his shoulder every few steps.

They were silent for a while. Floyd shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced from his feet to the sky momentarily. Blue, without a single cloud in it. The weather was perfect. "... Thanks, doll," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For... for not leaving. Even when I'm a wreck like that, you... you stay. And you just love me more. You don't think I'm crazy or faking it or anything."

"Why would I? You haven't given me any reason to believe you're faking." Earl linked his arm around Floyd's. "You're not crazy, either, you're... you're hurt. You've been through a lot, Floyd."

"... Other people have had it worse, though."

"That doesn't mean what happened to you wasn't horrible." Earl leaned into Floyd's side. "Like... you still had a shitty childhood. You still went through a war. That right there is plenty to fuck someone up." He glanced down at the ground. "I just... I love you. You're really not a bad guy, Floyd. You're not the villain your parents made you out to be."

Floyd was silent. "I mean... you have a good job. You have a nice house. You're smart, you're talented. You're not an abusive dickhead or anything. You have problems, but we all do. We all have skeletons that need cleaned out of the closet." Earl smiled up at Floyd. "And you have a boyfriend that loves you."

Floyd remained quiet as he glanced to Earl at his side. He didn't understand why or how, but Earl loved him. Adored him, even. "... I love you, too." He smiled a little bit, taking his hand out of his pocket to grip Earl's. "I don't think I understand why you love me so much, but I love you, too."

Earl smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to Floyd's lips gently. "That's fine," he whispered. "'Til you learn how to love yourself, I'll love you enough for both of us."

"And once I do?"

"Well, I'll still love you. Enough for three of us, then, I guess."

Floyd rolled his eyes and laughed softly, carrying on the stroll down the street gripping Earl's hand. "You're dumb. But you're cute."

"Yeah, I know. If we ever have kids I hope they have your brains and my looks."

"I mean, I don't think that's scientifically possible, but..."

"Bobby and Sammy had a kid."

"Their situation is a little different, doll." Floyd wasn't about to go into sex, gender, and the spectrums they sat upon with Earl right now. "Ask Sammy next time you see him if you're that curious. Can we just enjoy the walk right now?"

Earl opened his mouth to object, then shut it just as quickly. "Sure." He smiled a little bit and squeezed Floyd's hand, keeping pace with him as well as he could.


End file.
